Andy Stott - We Stay Together (Modern Love)
There is a strange, hypnotizing quality to this EP. Had this not hit my headphones in a digital format, I would immediately have started my search for the 45 rpm button. This is rough, deep, and textured, but must importantly, it's slowed down beyond what you could reasonably expect from a techno release. This is not the soundtrack of your weekend crusades or your euphoric blinds-open-hands-in-the-sky climax. This is the sound of a rough awakening at 5 am. You regain consciousness as the speed of time winds back up to match the pace of the world outside those heavy, heavy walls.
Stott has crafted an EP where every moment of sound is richly saturated. No gimmicks, no hooks; he does not need them. But then again, when you can create sounds tapestry this intense, who does?
Niels Frahm - Felt (Erased Tapes)
Unlike Stott, you can hardly accuse Niels Frahm of kicking in the door. Felt is so hushed and timid that you hardly notice its presence. To call the album forgettable, however, would be to underestimate Frahm's sense of composition. On one hand, the album sounds like it was recorded with a smartphone microphone, turning the up the gain to capture every last bit of sound. On the other hand, this gives you the experience of peeking over Frahm's shoulder and follow along as every single note comes to life.
If you allow Felt to be more than background mellowness, the album suddenly becomes an excruciating listen. Every note carries a necessity unlike anything I can recall experiencing. Considering that most of the music in my headphones is unmistakably 'programmed,' Frahm's lo-fi compositions carry a simplistic charm and a refreshing honesty.
Tim Hecker - Ravedeath, 1972 (Kranky)
Back to the big brushes again, Tim Hecker's Ravedeath, 1972 blew me away from the very first listen. To this date, I still cannot come up with an album that stretches out a single moment over an hour's worth of music with such eloquence and lightness, especially since noise is the very premise of the genre. Hecker does that, however, in exploring that moment halfway between order and chaos, between harmony and destruction immediately before the piano drops.
Ravedeath, 1972 is a bold statement. A statement that quite literally has you shut up, sit down, and pay attention. While it is tempting to dismiss the record, have you not given drone or noise a chance before, do yourself a favor and play it out loud, in full. Hecker demands your full awareness, but rewards you with a grandiose blend of aching melancholy and absolute catharsis. Sure, he defies any kind of pop formula, relying mainly on a perpetually mutating mass of noise. At those moments when a familiar sounds transcends the inferno, however, you realize just how beautiful a painting Hecker paints from the most unlikely palette.
A Winged Victory For The Sullen - A Winged Victory For The Sullen (Erased Tapes)
This is too much. I usually write about house and techno, and now I am about to share my love for a record that falls somewhere between classical and ambient? As the perfect midpoint between Hecker and Frahm, A Winged Victory For The Sullen amplifies the intensity of the former while maintaining the honesty of the latter. Between the quiet explosions, the seemingly endless stretches of silence make the meaning of that next string swoop all the more significant.
In fact, I would go so far as to argue that silence makes this record. There is tension, drama, melody, and melancholy, but none of these would hit us as hard, were it not for the moments of reflection that separate them. This is an album that works solely on its own terms. A Winged Victory For The Sullen is not merely beautifully sad and tragically beautiful. I hope more non-classical musicians (or non-ambient, for that matter) will give this a chance, if only to learn how much you can say with very little without having to call yourself minimal.
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